Page 5 of Chained to the Horned God
I grit my teeth. “Fine. Don’t tell me yours either.”
The silence stretches. I stare at his chest—he hasn’t stepped fully into the light yet—and wonder if the guards meant for him to kill me. That’s the joke, isn’t it? Toss the bloody little red-haired human into the beast’s den and bet how long it takes before she’s bones and pulp.
But he doesn’t move.
He sighs instead.
“Barsok.”
It takes me a second to realize he means himself.
I try to nod, then wince at the pressure in my neck. “Barsok,” I echo. “That’s…not what I was expecting.”
“Most people expect roaring and blood.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been disappointed.”
Another silence. Then he takes another step forward, close enough now that I can see the line of silver fur that traces from his forehead down to his nose. It glows faintly in the low light. His eyes never leave mine.
“You’re hurt,” he says.
I look down. Blood still crusts the side of my tunic. I don’t answer.
“I can’t fix it with my hands tied behind my back,” I mutter.
He kneels. Slowly. Deliberately. Our eyes level now.
I tense. Every muscle ready to scream.
He reaches around me, and I feel his fingers—blunt, rough, too big for this world—touch the knots binding my wrists. The leather groans.
“You’ll scream if I do this wrong,” he says.
“I’ll scream if you leave them on.”
He doesn’t smile. But he nods.
The bindings snap under his grip, sudden and jarring. I hiss in pain, arms surging forward like snakes freed from a jar. My shoulders pulse white-hot. I cradle my bad one close.
He sits back on his haunches, watching.
I meet his gaze.
“Why didn’t you—” I start.
“Eat you?” he finishes.
I nod, throat raw again.
“Because I don’t eat people,” he says. “And because you didn’t scream.”
I stare at him.
His horns tilt slightly. “Screaming irritates me.”
I laugh. It’s cracked and ugly, but real.
It feels good. To know something other than despair.
